<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Sweet Like Home by ayazuri</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435995">Sweet Like Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayazuri/pseuds/ayazuri'>ayazuri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chocolate, M/M, Secret Saito 2020, Secret Saito Gift Exchange 2020, actually quite a lot of chocolate, christmas love story, just as you wished mizu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 12:16:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayazuri/pseuds/ayazuri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Arthur can’t stand his teasing and mocking, and the prospect of his fist getting acquainted with Eames’ face seems really satisfying. But, he doesn’t let that happen because Eames is exceptional at forging (or at least Dom insists on that) and they really need him for this job. So, he tries his best to ignore his taunting and focuses on his research instead.</i> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arthur doesn't like chocolate. And Eames. Well, at least that's what he thinks at the beginning.<br/>But Eames has his own ways. And is quite convincing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Secret Saito 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Like Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizunoir/gifts">mizunoir</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hiii mizu!<br/>I'm your Secret Saito this year! Which means you REALLY can't get rid of me so easily :P<br/>And let me tell you, you killed me with your one word prompt. I was sooo panicked because the time was running out and I had absolutely NO IDEA what to write and how to write it. But hey! I started at the word ''chocolate'' for hours and illumination came upon me.<br/>I really wanted to write something angsty at first. And then I thought that maybe it's not so brilliant idea to write angst for a Christmas exchnage gift.<br/>So here, have some idiots in love and some chocolate.<br/>And all my hugs and kisses, and I really wish you all the best! You are wonderful, super duper talented genius! </p>
<p>Love!<br/>azu</p>
<p>(P.S. I hope you like your gift :3)</p>
<p>(Also, a huuuge thank you to peaxh who picked up all my lil' grammar disasters, and all my faulty commas, and put them together again but better and, like, correct ;))</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They meet for the first time on a job in Beirut, a week before Christmas. </p>
<p>Arthur is twenty-two years old and has close to zero experience in what he does, but he’s good, pays attention to detail and that makes up for all that he lacks. Eames is only a bit older, three maybe four years, and has worked in this business for only three years, but he acts like he knows everything. Arthur can’t stand his teasing and mocking, and the prospect of his fist getting acquainted with Eames’ face seems really satisfying. But, he doesn’t let that happen because Eames is exceptional at forging (or at least Dom insists on that) and they really need him for this job. So, he tries his best to ignore his taunting and focuses on his research instead. Eames however, he doesn’t stop trying to get a reaction out of him.</p>
<p>‘’Ah, Arthur, Arthur,’’ he says a day before the job, shaking his head. ‘’You’re no fun at all.’’</p>
<p>Arthur stares up at him from where he sits at his desk, his expression blank, and just shrugs. </p>
<p>They are done two days before Christmas Eve. Arthur feels somewhat relieved even though he has never been particularly keen on celebrating this holiday. Nevertheless, he appreciates peace and quiet once in a while.</p>
<p>‘’Merry Christmas, Arthur, have a good one,’’ Mal says, her tiny arms hugging him tightly. She smells like summer and coffee, reminds him of Paris in July and cobblestones bathed in the summer heat.  Dom pats him on the back, smiles a bit apologetically all the while talking on the phone, probably with his in-laws. Their chemist shakes Arthur’s hand on his way out and rushes to catch his flight or bus or train. Eames is the last one, excluding Arthur who methodically cleans and packs the PASIV and that’s bound to take some time, to leave their ‘’office’’. Arthur is prepared for some more teasing but nothing of that sort happens. Eames passes him, very close, closer than is necessary, and that baffles Arthur, making him wonder what the reason is behind this action. He’s alert now, ready for whatever Eames might try to do next. </p>
<p>Except, Eames does nothing. Pauses with his hand on the door knob, stands there probably a few seconds too long, like he’s undecided, like he doesn’t know. Then he turns towards Arthur just a fraction, looks at him and his eyes are sincere.</p>
<p>‘’Well then, I guess I’ll see you around,’’ he says, the corner of his mouth twisting slightly upwards. ‘’Merry Christmas, Arthur.’’</p>
<p>For a moment, Arthur almost forgets that he should answer, that it’s actually what polite people do, but the somewhat insistent stare that Eames gives him makes him come to his senses. He nods, hoping very much that his astonishment isn’t written all over his face.</p>
<p>‘’Merry Christmas, Mr. Eames.’’</p>
<p>He doesn’t know where this <em> mister </em>came from but Eames actually smiles. Really smiles, so that his eyes are smiling too, and that makes something to Arthur. Something deep inside him stirs and flips. And then Eames turns away from him and goes through the door, and the moment is over. </p>
<p>Later, when Arthur is done cleaning and packing the PASIV, when he’s packed all his things and is finally ready to leave and catch his flight, only then, does he realize that there’s something on his desk that wasn’t there before. </p>
<p>A little chocolate Santa Claus wrapped in a shiny foil.</p>
<p>He can’t know for sure, but he thinks it’s Eames who left it there for him.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t really like chocolate, but this particular chocolate Santa Claus somehow tastes almost like home. </p>
<p>He can’t know for sure, but he sends a message to Eames anyway.</p>
<p><em> Thanks for the chocolate Mr. Eames, </em>it reads.</p>
<p><em> Pleasure’s all mine, </em>is all Eames replies. </p>
<p>It’s enough.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As predicted, they see each other again and again, and again. They work together again and again, and again.</p>
<p>And somehow, just-before-Christmas jobs become some sort of a tradition. As well as the chocolate Santa Claus figurines he always finds on his desk, or whatever happens to be his workspace, after the job is done. </p>
<p>It’s not that Arthur’s complaining.</p>
<p>It’s not that he actually looks forward to it every year.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s definitely not that Eames has done something to him, between all his teasing and taunting, between all the more sincere stares and conversations. </p>
<p>It’s clearly not that they have grown closer with every year they worked together. </p>
<p>And it’s clearly not that Arthur has grown to actually like chocolate. Not at all.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s the day before Christmas Eve and Arthur hovers over his desk, checking one more time if they covered all their tracks, if they forgot about anything. </p>
<p>He’s twenty-six, sleep-deprived and restless. Technically speaking, the job is done and he should be on his merry way back home. Except it’s already too late to make it to the airport on time to catch the last flight, and besides, he doesn’t have any reason to actually come home for Christmas. </p>
<p>‘’Are you going to stand there until Christmas is over?’’ Eames materialises behind him and peeks above his shoulder at the papers scattered on the desk. He’s only inches away; all it would take for Arthur’s back to fit against him is only one little step back. Arthur’s really tempted to take that step. But he forces himself to keep still. He sighs heavily and rubs at his face trying to chase away tiredness. </p>
<p>‘’No, I’m not,’’ he answers after a while. ‘’But to be honest, I don’t have anywhere to be this Christmas so I’m not in a hurry. You should go if you want to catch a flight to London.’’</p>
<p>He turns his head, just an inch, to be able to look at Eames. There’s something undefined in Eames’ expression, something Arthur can’t decipher. They’re still awfully close to each other. Only one tiny step apart. But neither of them moves. After a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, Eames hums deeply and takes a step back. The distance between them grows colder. </p>
<p>‘’Actually, I don’t have anywhere to be this Christmas either,’’ he replies. ‘’I think I’ll stick around for some time.’’</p>
<p>‘’Oh.’’ Arthur blinks, surprised. ‘’Maybe we can keep each other company then?’’</p>
<p>The words tumble out of him before he has a chance to think twice. But to Eames’ credit, he isn’t taken aback, or at least doesn’t show it. He smiles widely instead, as if he wanted to offer the very same thing. And maybe that's exactly what he had planned to do.</p>
<p>‘’You mean spend Christmas with you.’’ A statement, not a question. </p>
<p>‘’I mean spend Christmas with me.’’ Arthur confirms because there’s no point in denying it. Eames’ smile widens even more.</p>
<p>‘’Oh, darling,’ he croons, and Arthur has no idea where this <em> darling </em>came from or why his stomach flips at that. ‘’With pleasure.’’</p>
<p>‘’I’m glad, Mr. Eames.’’</p>
<p>‘’Does that mean I can wait to give you your chocolate Santa until Christmas Eve?’’ Eames actually winks and that makes Arthur snort. </p>
<p>‘’No way.’’ He chuckles. ‘’I  want it now.’’</p>
<p>Eames laughs but he reaches into his pocket and pulls the chocolate figurine out of it. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They spend the whole of Christmas in Arthur’s hotel room, drinking wine and whisky and eating pizza, sushi and chocolate. Lots of chocolate. </p>
<p>Arthur realizes he really has grown to like chocolate.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘’So my guess is, Mr. Eames,’’ he says sometime between a second and a third drink, ‘’You really like chocolate.’’</p>
<p>Eames cackles at that and spills a bit of his own drink on the couch. He swears but doesn’t stop laughing. Arthur laughs too.</p>
<p>‘’Chocolate is one of the two things in this world I could never get enough of,’’ he answers and illustrates his statement by shoving two squares of a chocolate bar into his mouth.</p>
<p>‘’What is the other one then?’’ Arthur asks and Eames stops laughing. His expression steels and morphs into a thoughtful mask, although his eyes still sparkle with the remnants of laughter. He turns to look Arthur straight in the eye, and Arthur holds his breath. And then Eames leans closer and fits his lips against Arthur’s.</p>
<p>He tastes like whisky. </p>
<p>He tastes like chocolate.</p>
<p>‘’The other one would be you, darling,’’ he says when he pulls back and it’s Arthur’s turn to kiss him.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That night, Eames tastes and smells like chocolate and Arthur thinks that he has really grown to love chocolate. </p>
<p>And Eames.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s Christmas Eve and Mal is dead.</p>
<p>It’s the first Christmas in a painful reality without her, without a friend who loved coffee and wine and July in Paris.</p>
<p>Arthur is twenty-seven, sleep-deprived and broken. There’s no job this Christmas, and there should be no Christmas at all, because the world fell out of its orbit and nothing is the same. </p>
<p>Arthur is probably a bit too drunk for his own good and alcohol definitely isn’t helping him now.</p>
<p>There’s a knock on his door, but he doesn’t care. Whoever it may be, Arthur has no intention of getting up from the floor. After a while, the knocking ceases, but he gets a text message instead.</p>
<p><em> Let me in darling, </em>it reads and Arthur almost bursts into tears. He scrambles to his feet and when he opens the door, Eames is standing there-- he really is there. Arthur’s knees give out and he falls face first into Eames’ chest, into the safety of his arms.</p>
<p>‘’I’m here darling, I’m here.’’ Eames whispers on and on, and on again. Soothes him into a dreamless sleep.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s better when he wakes up. The pain is still there, and it will most likely never go away, but it’s tolerable. And Eames is here.</p>
<p>There’s a chocolate Santa Claus on the bedside table and Arthur can’t help but smile.</p>
<p>His apartment smells of coffee and chocolate.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eames stays with him the whole Christmas. He stays after that as well.</p>
<p>And when they kiss, when they make love, he tastes like chocolate. Always like chocolate.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tastes like home.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>